


Mama's Meat Pie

by orphan_account



Category: r's works
Genre: Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A mother and her daughter living in a quiet little home, how unsuspecting. But when the mother begins to act strange about a dish, it may be time to listen to her secret - and secret it sure is.





	Mama's Meat Pie

I stared out the kitchen window, my hands lying loosely next to the ball of bread dough, flour scattered everywhere. The woods behind my house let little slivers of sun through onto the patio, the sharp bright light of sun glimpsing through the pine and spruce trees. Mama makes a soft noise behind me as she pulls a pie out of the oven, the warm glow shining onto her hands and highlighting the light sheen of sweat. She places the pie delicately onto a faded white dishrag and wipes her hands on her apron, sighing as she watches the steam rise from the slits in the pie. Turning towards me, she cocks her head and smiles, eyes closing into crescents and crinkles spreading across her face. 

“It’s meat pie. I had some extra meat left over from the fermenting meat, so I figured I’d put it to use,” she said, her sweet voice carrying through the air. But there’s something about the way she says it that scares me a little. Slowly blinking, I give a soft smile back and push my glasses up a little further with the pads of the fingers on the edge of the circular rims. I turn back to my dough and continue kneading until Mama comes over with a bread loaf. It’s greased already, so I gently scoop up the dough and plop it into the pan, pressing the bread all the way into the corners. Wiping my hands on the sides of my worn apron, I lean over the counter near the window and grab the scoring knife hanging from the wall. I use the knife to cut the top of the bread, watching as it splits apart and rises like a freshly formed valley. Mama comes up behind me and takes the bread pan and puts it into the oven, grunting softly as she leans down to slide the bread into place. 

“What drink would you like? I was going to the well to draw water for the night, but if you want anything else, I can head to the cellar,” I say, Mama’s back to me as she drew out a pair of plates and silverware. After no reply, I start again. “Mama, would you like mi-” 

“It’s okay, darling. I have tea from lunch that I’ll continue to drink. Just go get your drink and I'll set the table.” 

Her tone was very harsh and angry, as if a switch had flipped and a new person stepped in. I swallowed and nodded even though she couldn’t see me. Walking to the back door, I untied my apron and pulled it off my neck, hanging it on the rack next to the dark wooden door. Slipping my indoor shoes off, I stepped into my boots and opened the door, glancing behind me to see Mama sharpening a butcher’s axe. I walked outside and shut the door behind me, stooping to pick up the bucket next to the steps. Pulling my hand away from the doorknob, I heard a thud come from inside the woods. Freezing, I clutched onto the bucket and scanned the edge of the trees, waiting to see if anything came out from beyond the clearing. After a few pauses, I shook my head and continued to the well sitting in the middle of the yard. As I attached the hook to the handle of the bucket, my mind began to slip into white space, and I listened to the creaks of the pulley as I let the bucket down to the water. Finally, a fair splash could be heard, and I let the line go slack until it became stiff again. Groaning, I pulled the line and let the rope drop next to my feet in an untidy pile until the full bucket came into my reach. Leaning slightly, I braced myself against the frame of the pulley and grabbed onto the handle of the bucket, yanking it up onto the brick wall of the well. I cupped my hands and sipped some water, droplets escaping and dripping onto the toes of my dirty work boots. I let the rest of the water splash onto the dirt at my feet and grabbed the handle again, moving slowly as to not let the water spill. As I walked back towards the house, I watched as the smoke in the chimney rose high into the sky and then faded against the now purple sky. The clouds grazed by and clustered together in large groups, bright yellows and pinks reflecting across them. I finally watched as the clouds disappeared from my gaze and stepped onto the patio steps. Setting the bucket down and letting a little water splash out onto the stones, I open the door and push it open. Mama was already sitting at the table, slices of meat pie sitting on our plates. She seemed angry, her eyebrows pinched together and eyes dark. Hurriedly, I brought the bucket in and cradled it against my torso, clumsily stepping out of my boots. I shut the door with my foot and set the water on the counter next to the sharp butcher’s knife. A sigh came from Mama’s direction and I glanced up sheepishly. 

“Sorry Mama. I’ll be quicker next time, I promise,” I said, watching as she blunk her eyes and motioned towards my seat. I quickly filled a glass with water and rushed over to sit down. As I pulled my chair out, Mama picked up her fork. She inspected it and then cut into the pie. I watched as she delicately picked up a piece of the meat and placed it in her mouth, a few crumbs of the flakey crust falling from the corners of her mouth onto the plate. There was a quiet moment as she processed the bite, the fork suspended in the air, her eyes closed. There was a slight pause again before Mama swallowed. Setting her utensils down, she clasped her hands together and smiled, her eyes staring right into my soul. I gulped, as I still had yet to even pick up my fork. It felt like Mama could see through me with how piercing her stare was.

"What's wrong? Do you not like my cooking?" Mama asked, cocking her head slightly to the left and bringing her folded hands up under her chin. She leaned forwards on her elbows and opened her eyes wide. "Does mommy's food not please the baby?" Her tone was different than before; it seemed psychotic now, as if she was going to up and stab me in the throat if I said anything that displeased her. I shakily took in a breath and shook my head no, watching her face to see if there was any change to indicate my coming death. She smiled a wide, fake smile and leaned back in her chair. Picking up her tea cup, she took a sip and stared into her drink.

"Then eat."

She said the command with a force that sent chills down my spine. I shifted slightly in my chair and began cutting into my pie slice. It menacingly sat on my plate, the crust holding in horrible secrets that would surely drive me insane if I ate them. Jabbing my fork into a small piece, I lifted it up and began to open my mouth, my eyes watching Mama as she continued to sip on her tea. I clenched my eyes shut and jammed the food into my mouth, chewing with strained movements as the pie fell apart on my tongue. Hesitantly swallowing, I set my fork down and reached for my water, Mama chuckling softly. It wasn't the food that scared me, it was the way she was acting that scared me.

"See? it wasn't that bad," She chuckled, leaning forward in her seat and eating again. I sat still in my chair, still registering what just happened. For the rest of dinner, I would watch as she would take a bite and smile in an unnerving way before flapping her hand at me to copy her. Once both of our plates were cleared, I stood and walked to where she sat to gather her plate when she shot out and grabbed my wrist.

"Mama? Mama, please let go, you're hurting me!" I begged as her grip got tighter and tighter. The plate from my left hand slipped and hit the table with a thud. Mama raised her head and stared into my terrified eyes again, a light of something truly insane beneath her eyes. As tears squeezed out of my eyes, something clicked in her head and she let go of my arm, white ghosts of fingers quickly imprinting themselves.

"You ever wonder what makes a criminal bad? What makes a villain bad? What makes a farmer with secrets bad?" She muttered, her eyes darting away from mine as I searched her face with concern. Shooting up from her chair, she picked up the empty meat pie tin and spun to face me. Shaking the tin, she ran her hand through her hair and took deep irregular breaths. "You wanna hear a secret? You wanna hear the secret that makes a farmer bad?" She took a step towards me and threw the tin down on the floor.

"You're scaring me! Please, stop," I cried as she paced in a circle. Suddenly stopping, she turned to look at me and smiled. For a moment, I was blindsided by the hope that she was okay until she ran towards me. Grabbing my face, she huffed a deep breath before continuing on with what she was saying.

"My secret? I'm not the nicest farmer out there. You know why we live out here? In the quiet? It's because they're dead! It's them I killed!"

Then she said the words I was dreading from the moment her episode started.

"The meat pie was so tasty because my mother was in there! Not a cow, not a sheep, but my own mother! Murdered with these filthy hands grabbing you!"

I slumped to the floor and watched as she kept speaking to herself and walking in circles. Her hand darted out to grab the sharpened butcher's knife on the counter and she held it high in the air. My chest grew tight, and I dove to the side as she swung at where my collarbone would be. Standing up quickly, I watched as she turned around to where I now stood. As we both took deep heaving breaths, I thought about what would happen soon and I ran. I ran out the front door and down the hill that we rested upon. I grabbed an axe that was lying nearby and turned to watch as Mama stumbled out the door, her hair flying everywhere and sweat dripping from her forehead. She screamed and ran towards me and suddenly there was nothing. I don't remember much after that, except that when I opened my eyes, everything was shaded in a deep red and something heavy was lying on my feet. I wiped my glasses and looked to see my poor Mama in a crumpled heap, axe in her head, butcher's knife now discarded. Stepping back, I watched as blood pooled under her body from the wound. I sniffled as I realized what I had done, but then I had an important thought as I bent over and dragged the body to the backyard.

At least my meat pie recipe will taste even better than Mama's.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my story! I'm not exactly the best at horror, but I figured I'd give it a shot. I'm open to criticism so feel free to voice some pointers, and if you enjoyed this work, then share it with somebody you think would enjoy it.


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